kept you waiting, girls," said the teacher, "but Miss
Russell has been giving me a commission to transact while we are out.
She wants us to go to Monkend, a farm about a mile and a half from
here."

"A new walk?" asked Beryl.

"Yes, we have never been there before, but I don't think we can miss the
way."

A perfectly fresh walk was a pleasant prospect. Everyone set off,
therefore, in the best of spirits. It was a beautiful afternoon, one of
those glorious days when summer seems to clasp hands with spring and
join the delights of both seasons. The newly unfolded leaves were still
a tender green, and the sycamores were covered with pendent blossoms, in
the golden pollen of which the bees revelled like drunkards. The larches
had opened all their tassels, and the young cones on the firs glowed
with such a pink hue that they resembled candles on a Christmas tree.
The hawthorns were almost over, but here and there a crab apple showed a
mass of pink bloom, or a guelder rose made a white patch in the hedge;
and all the stretches of grass by the roadsides were carpeted with
bluebells and starry stitchwort.

Miss Frazer was indulgent, and would wait for a few minutes while the
girls gathered handfuls of flowers, or climbed up to the top of a bank
to admire the view. She was as interested as they were in the finding of
a robin's nest; and quite as excited when a hawk swooped suddenly into a
bush, and flew away with a young thrush in its claws. The cuckoos were
calling persistently from the woods, the larks were singing up in the
air above, and all the hedgerows seemed to teem with busy bird life.

Their way soon left the high road, and, striking across a field, led
them through a copse where there was an interesting pond, swarming with
tadpoles. The girls would have lingered here, trying to catch the funny,
wriggling, little black objects, but Miss Frazer's patience gave way at
last, and she hurried them on, declaring that if they were not quick
they would never get to the farm and back before tea-time.

Monkend was a quaint old house, built in the midst of cherry orchards.
Its timbered walls were grey and weather-stained, and its tiled roof
yellowed with lichens. By the side of the open barn door the cows were
standing lowing to be milked, and the dairymaid, a rosy-faced young
woman in a blue apron, was coming from the kitchen, singing as she swung
her bright pails. She stopped in astonishment at the unwonted sight of
visi